Some of my trans friends aren’t going to like these conversations, nor will people who think I am belittling various mental health conditions. Some transfolk will think these conversations make me less trans, or not really trans, or perhaps they will think these historical records make me more gender fluid or genderqueer than trans. However, I am not gender fluid, gender queer, or anything else. I am a male-to-female transgender woman who just so happens to still be very connected to her assigned self. This is simply my story, my experience. I have no intentions of making fun of anyone with multiple personality disorders by writing (transcribing) these conversations. They are a part of my healing experience. Healing from what? Everything Joseph suffered to keep me safe before and after I came out.

You see we are connected, joined at the hip, so to speak. And what makes this all the more remarkable is that Joseph didn’t have a conscious thought I existed until we were 47 years old. Oh, he knew on some deep subconscious level, some soul level. He knew deep down and did his damndest to keep me safe, and as a result of my being there nested in the very center of his being, visible to those around us in the ways I expressed myself “effeminately” through him—he suffered terrible abuse and twisted, radical conversion attempts. Without trying to sound dramatic one could say Joseph was ravaged by those around him before he was fourteen. By the time he was eight he was dissociating on a daily basis. He survived horrific abuse because of me. Well, better said: Not because of me, but because of the limited, fear-based, perverted minds of those who tried to prevent my birth.

One could say that I am Joseph’s soul. He even calls me his, “Beloved.” This doesn’t mean he is the one presenting to the world. Joseph has stepped back. He has gracefully left center stage and trained the spotlight on me. However one wants to view our connection, the main thing to know is that it is real. It exists. And no, I do not want to be called, Joseph. I am NOT Joseph. I am Jennifer. This is MY life. Since coming out though, the roles have been reversed on some strange levels. Joseph is now living within me, not like a soul, but more like a spirit, a fragrance, an angel. He still protects me, not that I need it. He still wants me to be free and happy and safe and healthy—not that I need him in order to be those things. I choose to have him intimately involved in my life because I care for him and feel, in a certain sense, like I owe him that. And he would still lay down his life for me again and again if he could or needed to. He also knows this is my life. I am in the driver’s seat. And he wants me to shine.

He also knows I love him. And he adores me. Another way to describe our relationship is of brother and sister, Joseph being the older brother. I was the changeling unwanted and left at his door when he was a young man (of course I’ve been there since the beginning–let’s just go with the image as a way of understanding the dynamics between us). He tells me when he found me he vowed to take care of me, to protect me and to raise me in secret until I wanted and needed to step out into the light.

The main thing to understand is that these conversations are not “made up.” They are dialogs that have taken place in my head, and heart and body, and therapist’s office. They have taken place by the Wissahickon Creek in Fairmount Park, they have taken place while we were driving or shaving. They are real and describe real events and real feelings and real experiences.

And yes, they are my way of processing what has happened to me as a transgender woman. Regardless of whether you believe they actually took place or not, we ask you to read them with an open mind. It is our hope they will help the world understand the growing phenomena of the transgender individual. It is our hope one day soon being transgender won’t be considered a phenomena. It will be as normal, so to speak, and accepted, that no one bats an eyelash when a transgender person walks by. And even better perhaps someday the word “transgender” will be replaced with simply “male” or “female” or whatever gender one identifies with. We also hope these conversations will help younger trans kids identify and perhaps have new ways of putting into words their experiences, or maybe to frame them in an artistic context. It is also our hope to demonstrate that there is no one way to be trans. Everyone’s experiences are not only valid, but true for them. The trans-policing within the trans community needs to stop. And now, I give you the Conversations.

PS: Please forgive any goofy formatting. I am not very techie and can’t quite figure out how to get this all looking the way I want here on WordPress–the way it looks in the Word Document. Grrrr….

Conversation One: Driving Together

Jennifer: A couple months ago I found myself in a trance and while I was
there I went through the process of letting you go—of letting
you go back into the light.

Joseph (smiling): I remember.

Jennifer: It was a powerful experience for me.

Joseph (laughing): Me too.

Jennifer: You were so gracious; so encouraging. I had said I wanted to try my hand at

living without you. I wanted to drive the car of my life, so to speak.

Joseph: Yes. I believe the words you used at the time were: ‘It’s time I let you go.’

Jennifer (pausing): Yes. I think you’re right.

Joseph: It’s OK. It was time.

Jennifer: I know, and you were so kind about it all, like you are about everything. You were,

and always have been, a gentleman.

Joseph: Thank you. You are beloved to me.

Jennifer (Looking down, then back up): I know. I know I am. And I am so lucky.

Joseph: You were saying something else though.

Jennifer: Yes. During that trance I felt it was time for me to live independently of you, but I

didn’t do it out of a lack of gratitude or respect.

Joseph: I know. I know you Jennifer.

Jennifer (smiling): And when I saw you let go of my hand, like a proud parent turning away as their

child went off to college, you looked so proud.

Joseph: I was. I am.

Jennifer: So when you turned and dissolved into the light, I cried thinking you were finally

home and at peace after all you had gone through for me. You have suffered so

much for me, and I had this chance—I mean, I wanted to try to live on my own. I

remember you smiled and waved as you turned to go. You were happy to nudge

me out of the nest, weren’t you?

Joseph: I knew you needed space. I knew you wanted to fly solo, to take the wheel, to

soar; and I wanted you to feel free. I wanted you to be free, and if needing to let

go of my hand was what had to happen in order for you to be free, then I would

have run into that light except I think that wouldn’t have looked so graceful as

I saw this ad on my Facebook sidebar that said something like: “You become what you think about,” and, “think happy,” and it got me thinking and feeling annoyed.

Yes, thoughts are things, but do you know what a thought actually is? I mean really?

Is a thought the stuff that drifts through your head like air through an open window, or static on a radio? Is it something you create out of your own “mind-stuffs”—in other words is a thought is something you “think it up?” Is that a thought?

I ask because some people who push things like the Law of Attraction (and I know this because I used to push it myself) haven’t a clue what they are talking about (just like I didn’t), and, as a result, they hurt people, frighten people, helped people feel powerless and defeated. And that sucks. Big time. I am making amends for my past stupidity and this article is part of that process.

Here’s the deal:

1). If you spend a lot of time thinking about ashtrays, you will not become an ashtray.

2). If you spend a lot of time thinking about medicine you will not become a doctor. You might become a doctor, but it wouldn’t be because you thought about medicine day in day out. It would because you studied and worked hard and got yourself into debt over college loans for the rest of your life.

3). Most of what passes for “thinking,” isn’t.

Let’s use some negative reasoning to help us understand what thinking is not.

Thinking is not all the afore mentioned stuff that drifts and sifts and dusts itself through your head.

Thinking is not all the “mindless” listening to NPR or the chatter of other people on the subway (yes, I used the word, “subway,” on purpose to make an allusion to the subconscious. Some would argue we actually live based on what’s stored (collecting dust) in the attics (basements, dungeons, silos) of our subconscious minds. This is like believing I am suffering in this lifetime for something I did, but cannot remember doing, in another lifetime. It is a cruel idea. It is like saying: “Here, YOU suffer for things unknown. YOU suffer because I suffer and don’t know why I suffer, but I am going to tell you why YOU suffer.”).

Thinking is not all the stuff you “think” about in a given day—the bills, the bad drivers, the fate of the nation, etc.

And now what I am about to say will sound like a contradiction:

Those things just mentioned above are all examples of “thoughts” yes, but only if we believe the definition of a thought as being anything that just so happens to be in your head at any given moment. But I don’t categorize these things as the kinds of thoughts that can be properly put into the file of, “thinking,” because they are not the kinds that can ever have truly creative properties.

So please, stop worrying about becoming bipolar because you think about bipolarism. Please stop worrying you are going to get eaten by a shark because you watch so many shark attack videos. Please stop worrying that your house will be robbed because you worry about your house being robbed.

Our fears do not, I repeat, do not, attract the things we fear into our lives. Promise.

I mentioned there are thoughts that have creative properties however. What kinds of thoughts are these?

They are the ones you invest your heart into. Thoughts that you think with your heart in addition to your head—those are powerful things; things that can bring about great changes in the world and within yourself. Here’s why:

Thoughts themselves are images really—sense impressions/impulses flashed on the screen of the mind—they are largely static, lifeless things, sort of like random magnetic poetry words on a refrigerator. However, once you stop, focus, draw your feelings up from your body, from your heart, suddenly those plain, “meaningless” thoughts begin to take form, shape, make sense, create beauty, excitement, dialog, poetry. YOU have to rearrange them though, like the magnetic words on the fridge. You give them meaning by what you DO with them and how you FEEL about them. In other words, thoughts can become powerful creational tools when infused with the heart, the soul, the spirit, and most of all, actions.

If you “think” a lot about being attacked by bears but never go into the woods, you’re probably safe from bear attacks. If you “think” about bear attacks AND THEN go out into places where bears live and you drag around slabs of meat and cart along backpacks full of honeypots, well, then, you might just become bear poop in the very near future.

You see the difference? One is empty(ish) and the other is boosted with actions.

I suffer from clinical depression. I have spent many years in various forms of dissociative states. I am a trauma survivor and someone who suffers from PTSD. The last thing I need to hear is “think happy thoughts and you will start farting rainbows, and dancing around happy as a well, farting unicorn.” The last thing I need to hear is “if only you would discipline your thinking to think positive thoughts you would be happy.”

There are times in my life when asking me to think positive thoughts is like asking someone without legs to get up and run. I simply cannot do it. I am not choosing to be mentally ill. I have not chosen to be unhappy. And I haven’t become depressed by simply thinking depressing thoughts any more than I will become taller by thinking about stilts.

People who find success with positive thinking are probably not as fundamentally ill as I am, and I am tired of being shamed for not being able to think as happily as you.

It’s similar with the Law of Attraction (LOA) cult. Yes, my thoughts are things, but they are not homeopathic. They will not attract other similar thoughts and thus, eventually, the desired thing (usually money, success, a relationship, a yacht) (nothing wrong with wanting any of these things, wanting is good, I am just pointing out the LOA cult leaders prey on people who are often economically disadvantaged, the lonely, the down-trodden, the ones who, forgive me for saying so, but who do not think clearly because they CAN’T).

The only kinds of thoughts that will attract other similar thoughts are the ones you think with your heart and hands. The ones you put your blood, sweat, and tears into. Things you love. Things you not only desire, but know are true and good for yourself and the world.

Of course, positive affirmations and positive thinking is a good “idea.” If it helps, go to town.

So, instead of telling me to “think positive” and to just “be happy,” or to just remember, “thoughts are things,” tell me you love me. Tell me you’re here to listen. Tell me you will drive me to my therapy appointment or come out for a cup of tea with me. Tell me you’re sorry and that you care. Whatever you do, know that I am listening to you and that it would be great if I knew we could stand together in the world, and not worry together about being eaten by bears.

There is no one way to be trans just as there is no one way to express, well, anything, even, let’s say, numbers. The number three is a quantitative value that can be expressed with three acorns, three pieces of candy, three pennies, a triangle, a tripod, and so on. It can be expressed as 3, III, or three—not to mention how it is expressed in the many different languages of the world. The fundamental value of a three does not change because of how it is written or illustrated, or expressed or in what language it is referred to in. Transpeople are fundamentally human beings who just so happen to exist and express themselves on a spectrum of infinite variety.

I could care less how “feminine” I look in some respects, in others I do, but the point is, I choose what is right and true and comfortable and fun for me. I do not base my gender identity or expression on what the world might think is most “feminine.” Three pencils and three jolly ranchers both express “threeness” equally validly, and “correctly.” I express the value of “transness” not wearing makeup just as much as another transperson wearing tons of makeup.

I have met transwomen who were trapped (or so it seemed to me) in the traditional gender binary. And this is sad. And can be tragically sad. Some transwomen try so hard to fit in to what they perceive is the “right” feminine gender norm and kill themselves when they perceive they can’t or don’t. Some transwomen seemingly buy into the same misogynistic impressions of “femininity,” that many cis-gendered people do.

This past year in which I came out, several transwomen have told me I will never “pass,” unless I fix my eyebrows. Of course, I had no idea my eyebrows were broken AND I had no idea “passing” was the goal. I thought being my authentic self was. If that includes passing, cool; if it doesn’t, still cool.

One transwoman, a few years older than myself, recently said, after looking me over:

“Have you ever heard of the uncanny valley?”

I hadn’t.

“Well, it’s the idea that some robots and zombies and aliens, etc. make humans feel eerie and uncomfortable because they appear to look CLOSE to human, but aren’t.”

“I see,” I said, while inside drifting steadily into a protective dissociative state (really).

“You just need to fit in more,” she went on without mercy, “work on your makeup, your hair is too flat, your clothes, well, your clothes are OKAY, but you can work on those too. And your eyebrows…they are way too big. You haven’t feminized your voice or your moves—your walk.”

Later, after much reflection and a healthy dose of needing to be talked down from a highly triggered state of dysphoria, I thought about just how sad it must be to be her.

She is stuck—I daresay—bound–to the belief that the task of a transwoman is to fit into “American” society’s prevailing views of what women should look like. If I would only “feminize” myself in such ways, this would, in her mind, make me look more “human,”—less threatening to the “normies.” If I would just toe the line of “traditional,” “American,” “feminine” ideals then I would find a job and a place to live. I wouldn’t be so depressed.

I also realized later on that I must be a threat to her on some levels. She was likely told and bought into the idea that she had to look a certain way in order to be a “real” woman, a woman who “passes,” or a woman who, at very least, doesn’t draw attention to herself. There are, of course, very real safety concerns for some transwomen, but I think in this case, I must have contradicted decades of, what deep-inside she must view as, her wasted time, money, and life trying to “fit in.” Turns out you can be trans and not have to look a certain way, not have to give a fuck about fitting in. Something she may never have been told. Something she cannot bear to hear.

The fact that I don’t wear makeup must fly in the face of her “traditions” about what women should and should not do. The fact that I don’t care about covering my five-o’clock shadow might make her upset for all the money and time she spent on electrolysis or expensive makeup, not to mention the time she spent shaving, and so on. The fact that I don’t care how fluffy my eyebrows are might make her resentful at herself for all the countless hours she spent plucking, waxing, trimming, shaping, or threading her eyebrows—and here I am—a whipper-snapper transwoman—who comes along and says: “Um, I’m trans, and I have fluffy eyebrows. Fuck you.”

Of course it is completely possible she looks the way she does, and does the things to help herself look the way she does, because she likes it, because she chooses it consciously, thinks it’s fun, affirming, liberating, and so on. And that’s all totally fine, totally acceptable, totally trans. And when I dress the way I dress or choose not to “feminize” myself in the ways others think I should, I am also acting perfectly, acceptably, and totally, wonderfully trans.

So let’s get some things straight, because there are some things in the world that need to be straight, and these are a few of them:

1). There is no one way to be trans.

2). There is no right or wrong way to be trans.

3). Transgender folks are human beings just like everyone else. We do not belong to any uncanny valleys. Uncanny valleys are stupid.

4). There is no one way to be a woman, a man, or genderfluid, genderqueer, asexual, bisexual, gay, lesbian, a child, a dog, a puppy, cat, whale, moose, tree, or sky.

5). There is no need for transgender policing in the transgender community.

Those are eternal truths just as the number three will always and ever be a three. A thousand years from now you can hold three pieces of stardust in your hands and they will still represent the number three. A thousand years from now the idea of uncanny valleys will still be stupid.

A penis is most commonly found on “men.” A vulva most commonly found on “women.” But that doesn’t mean they are the only places for those organs to be found, and further more they do not define the gender of a human being any more than an arm, leg, nose, liver, or knee cap does. I am a woman with a penis. And I don’t like wearing makeup very much. And further-further more, I just divulged a very personal bit of information about myself because I chose to. In actuality, what anyone has or does not have in their pants, skirt, spacesuit, etc. is none of your business, and if you think it is, then perhaps the idea of the uncanny valley IS valid because it would then apply to you.

I am a transwoman with fluffy eyebrows. I am a transwoman who still likes her voice. I am a transperson who doesn’t believe in “dead names.” And I am still perfectly, wonderfully a number three, a person, a transperson, a woman who just so happens to be powerful, creative, and full of life. I am a person who just so happens to be fed up with the policing that goes on in some trans communities. A person who cares deeply about the young transfolk coming up behind us.

They need to be accepted completely and fully for who they are and how they want or need to express themselves. They need us. They need us strong, together, and smart. They need us to have their backs. They need us to look in the mirror and at one another, and at THEM, and see love—pure and simple expressions of infinite variety.